Healing before the crisis

People come to us broken, but not broken enough for the system to kick in, writes Rebecca Collett about her work as a mental health support worker.

 

In our mahi as mental health workers, we support those carrying mamae of all kinds — physical, emotional, spiritual, relational.

Whether it’s pain in the body, stress at work, grief in the whānau, or the quiet ache of feeling unseen, our kaupapa is to find a place for them to land.

But to support someone in distress, I need a referral. Then I make contact. Then I need another referral to get an initial assessment. Then we discuss whether they fit into primary or secondary care.

Then we wait.

And wait.

And while we’re waiting for that appointment, that assessment, that next step, I’m trying to keep the whaiora — the person seeking help — calm, supported and engaged, while they are experiencing deep distress.

But here’s the kicker.

That distress they’re feeling — that’s affecting them and their whānau — often doesn’t meet the criteria for services.

So, again we wait. We wait for a crisis. We wait for the system to say: “Okay, now you qualify.”

And in that waiting, we lose people. We lose trust. We lose momentum. And sometimes, we lose hope.

So, we created a space where healing happens before the crisis.

We created Mind Your Heart, Love Your Mind because there was nowhere for the people who needed our help to simply breathe. No space for them to reset the mauri when life got heavy.

We do things differently.

For example, we built a giant Jenga tower. We put people into three teams, each convinced they were building weapons to destroy the others. Turns out, they were all building the same thing. When they realised it, they laughed so hard they forgot they were supposed to be angry. And then we talked about assumptions, conflict, and connection.

We also played a game, like charades, but instead of acting it out, you had to articulate what the thing was. And through that, we saw the depth of knowledge that lives inside our people. Not just one person, all of them. They knew things. They remembered things, and they taught each other. And suddenly, the room wasn’t just a group, it was a collective. A place of shared wisdom, not just healing.

We also craft. Origami. Dorodango. Mala beads. Macramé. Feather art. Smudging wands. Flax weaving. Because when our hands are busy, our thoughts go quiet. And in that quiet, something beautiful happens — an organic conversation. People encourage each other. They help, laugh, share.

And then we eat together, a wholesome lunch, full of manaakitanga and warmth. The walls fall. The masks drop. And healing begins.

These crafts aren’t random. They’re ancient echoes of generations who healed through making, who told stories with their hands when words weren’t enough. They’re simple, not because they lack depth, but because simplicity invites presence, and presence invites healing.

Each piece is chosen with intention. Not just to pass time, but to awaken something deep within, to stir memory, emotion, and connection. They’re designed to build new neurological pathways, to rewire the brain through movement, rhythm, and touch. To reconnect the mind with the body, the body with the heart, and the heart with the wairua.

These crafts are medicine. The bridge between trauma and transformation. In these moments of making, people begin to feel again, trust their instincts, express without fear, connect without words.

What makes this group even more powerful is its diversity. Ethnicity and gender are evenly represented. The age range spans from early 20s to people in their 70s. It is a natural space for tuakana-teina relationships, where wisdom flows both ways, and respect is felt, not forced. Younger participants bring energy and curiosity, while older ones offer depth and lived experience. And in that mix, something special happens. People begin to see themselves differently.

And here’s the most important part: every single person comes by choice. No one is forced. No one is referred. They choose to be here. And that choice is the first step in self-healing.

This kaupapa is deeply relational because healing happens in connection. It is culturally grounded, honouring wairua, whakapapa, and whanaungatanga. It is accessible, there’s no referral, no waiting list, just a willingness to show up and be part of something real.

Neuroscience shows that playfulness and laughter activate the prefrontal cortex and release dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin — chemicals that regulate emotion, reduce stress, and strengthen relationships. Emotional safety in group settings increases trust, openness, and vulnerability, which are essential for healing. And when people feel they belong, it disrupts negative emotional cycles and creates space for renewed energy and self-belief.

Philosophically, autonomy is not just about making choices. It’s about leading a life that feels chosen and embraced. When people are empowered to self-heal, they reclaim their mana. They are no longer passive recipients of care — they are active creators of their own wellbeing.

This kaupapa has become so much more than a programme. It’s a living, evolving space where people come by choice, week after week, not because they’re told to, but because they feel something shift inside them when they’re there.

That, in essence, is what the late Whaea Tariana wanted for Whānau Ora. She wanted whānau to take control of their own destiny, and row their own waka, on their terms and with others as they choose.

The impact is undeniable.

We’ve seen physical recovery where none was expected. Emotional growth sparked by play.

Deep knowledge emerge from quiet voices. We’ve seen people listen, reflect, and change, not because they were told to, but because they wanted to.

We’ve seen a diverse group, young and old, Māori and Pākehā, tāne and wāhine, come together in a way that fosters tuakana-teina relationships, mutual respect, and shared leadership. And in that dynamic, healing happens. Belonging disrupts the negative thought cycles. Safety opens the door to self-awareness. And joy becomes the medicine.

Kāore mātou e tatari mō te raruraru.
We don’t wait for crisis.
Ka tū mātou me te aroha, i mua i te āwhā.
We rise with love, before the storm.

Kāore mātou e tatari mō te whakaaetanga.
We don’t wait for permission.
Ka hīkoi mātou me te mana, ka kōrero i tō mātou pono.
We walk with dignity and speak our truth.

Kāore mātou e tatari mō te pūnaha.
We don’t wait for the system.
Ka noho mātou hei pou, hei whare, hei ara.
We become the pillars, the shelter, the path.

Tiakina tō ngākau. Arohatia tō hinengaro.
Mind your heart. Love your mind.
Tukua te whakaora kia tīmata, ahakoa kāore anō te ao kia kī atu.
Let healing begin, even before the world says it’s time.

Ko te whakapapa tātou. Ko te whānau tātou.
We are the whakapapa. We are the whānau.
Ko tātou te panonitanga.
We are the change.

 

Mind Your Heart, Love Your Mind is a relational healing programme based in Ohakune. It’s open to adults seeking emotional wellbeing through creativity, connection, and experiential learning. There’s no referral process — just a willingness to show up. This work was shaped through connection, and it’s offered in that same spirit. If it stirs something in you — a reflection, a possibility, or a sense of what might be possible — the door is always open. You can contact: rebecca.collett@ngatirangi.com

Rebecca Collett is a kaupapa Māori mental health support worker for Ngā Waihua o Paerangi of Ngāti Rangi, an iwi entity based in Ohakune, in central North Island. Nō Rangataua ia, he uri nō Uenuku me Ngāti Rangi.

E-Tangata, 2025